


Sarah Johnston

by supernaturalfragalistic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: CW, Gen, Sick Dean, Sick Dean Winchester, Worried Sam, irritated Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:45:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturalfragalistic/pseuds/supernaturalfragalistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean go to interview a woman about a gin. Unfortunately, Dean's a bit under the weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic. Hope you like it!

The sizzle of bacon and eggs made a symphony out of the bunker kitchen. Sam Winchester flipped up the frying pan once, twice, three times. He took a sip of his twist-off and set the table, waiting for Dean, who is usually up before him anyway. 

The yawn that turned Sam around was loud and long, followed by an irritated groan. There he was, the Great Dean Winchester, fresh out of bed. 

"Morin'," Dean said.

"Hey," Sam replied. 

Dean rubbed his eyes as he usually does and sat down at the table. Sam came over with some Scotch. Dean waved it away.

Shaking his head, a smile playing on his lips, Dean said, "What's a guy gotta do to get some water around here, huh, Sammy?" 

Sam's surprised silence lasted a while, along with cautiously worried glances Dean's way as he traded the Scotch for water. 

"Thanks," Dean said.

"No problem," Sam said warily. 

Sam went on about the research he was conducting before breakfast (looking through John's journal about a gin) while casting more worried glances at his brother. Dean was wating, as he should have been, but not nearly as fast or with half as much enthusiasm as the eldest Winchester usually sports. 

"What, not good enough for ya?" Sam barked. 

Dean looked over at him for a moment, distance clouding his eyes. "Huh?" he said. "Oh, no, Sammy, it's great. Good..." His eyes blinked rapidly, trying to fight what was soon to come. "G-g-g-g- _hehh...._ Good jo- _hecktcherCHuuesch!!!_ " The sneeze pushed his knees up and his torso forward as Sam jumped, startled. Dean sniffled. "Good job, Sam," He finished, rubbing the back of his hand across his nose. 

"You okay?" Sam asked. 

"Of course, Sam. I'm fine," was the disgruntled reply. "It's just the dust in here."

Sam nodded, pacified for the moment. 

* * *

As they rode in the glossy blank 1967 Chevy Impala of Dean's, the Metallica album was several notches below speaker-busting, which, naturally, worried Sam. Sam took a leap. 

"Dean," he began softly, "are you feeling alright?"

Dean's low response was accompanied by the rubbing of his forehead. "Yeah, I'm alright, Sammy. Just a headache."

"You want some aspirin or something?"

"No," Dean said stiffly, "I'll be okay in a bit."

Again, Sam nodded and didn't press any further.

* * *

 _Knock, knock, knock_. Dean slammed three solid knocks on the door of Sarah Johnston's house in some Arizona suburbs. A woman appeared behind the stained glass section of the oak door. The boys showed their badges and stepped back, showing off their twin navy blue suits. 

"FBI, Ma'am," Sam said through the door. Dean simply nodded, his presence full of authority, though his nose was peach pink and his cheeks were flushed. His golden-green eyes were bright against the contrast of his face. Sam hadn't noticed, so he assumed this woman wouldn't either.

The door opened. "May I help you?" came the voice of the woman. 

Sam looked to Dean, who played with his tie and cleared his throat before speaking. 

"Sarah Johnston?" She nodded. "Ma'am, if you'd invite us in, Special Agent Revis and I would like to ask you a few questions."

"It will only take a couple minutes of your time," Sam added. 

"Of course, please, do come in," Sarah replied earnestly.

* * *

 

" _Hethcuu!"_ Dean choked out his sneeze harshly and wetly from beside Sam on Sarah Johnston's couch. 

"Ooh, bless you, Agent," Sarah said, concerned. She handed him some tissues. 

"Thangk you, Mba'mbe," Dean mumbled, taking the offered tissues. Sam stared at Dean, worry filling his whole being. Dean pointedly cleared his throat and nodded toward Sarah.

After clearing his own throat, Sam looked back to Sarah. "Uh, ma'am, can you tell us when you last saw-" The sneeze that interrupted him was similar to a volcanic eruption. It was fast, violent, and painful. Sarah and Sam both looked at Dean, who was busy rubbing his nose and sniffing hard. Going by the audible snort coming from him, however, he wasn't getting very far. Sam patted Dean's leg and ended the meeting. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnston, I believe we have enough for now," said Sam, with a gentle smile on his face. 

"Yeah, yes of course. " Sarah turned to Dean. "Agent Devins, you should rest up, try to get well soon."

"I'll get righdt ond thadt, Mba'mb. Thangks," Dean promised, as Sam ushered him outside. As Dean started to round the car to the driver's side, Sam stopped him. 

"Whatd de hell do you thingk you're doingk, Samb?!" The congestion in Dean's voice cut right through Sam's soul. 

"You're sick," Sam stated, very matter-of-factly. The sniffle attempted by Dean was full of denial.

"It's just allergies, Samb." Dean got in the Impala. The scoff and chuckle Same gave was humourless as he ducked into the passenger seat. 

"How's your head?" Sam asked, turning up the radio. Dean groaned in response, actually  _groaned_. 

"Samb," he pleaded, drawing out the word, "please turn downd the friggind' radio. Mby head's killinkg mbe." His words were so quiet, Sam had a hard time hearing him. The vulnerability in the sentence was something Sam could only remember hearing one other time. Sam had been only seven at the time, when John and the boys were going to Springfield, Massachusetts for a poltergeist. He had been young, but Sam still remembers the frustration and worry rolling off his father as he felt Dean's sweating forehead. John had cringed, retracted his hand, and given Dean soup. Being a poltergeist case, time had been of the essence, but he sure couldn't have left a feverish Dean alone with a worried seven-year-old Sammy. 

Remembering that day, Sam was moved to reach over the seat and place a hand on his brother's forehead. Dean jerked back for a nano-second before having to move forward once again to stop the Impala from hitting an oncoming truck. 

"What the hell, Samb!" shouted Dean. "You're gonna get us killed!"

Sam was calm in his seat. His eyes were filled with as he said, "I had to make sure you weren't sick."

"I told you I was find, Samby, quit wo-"

"You have a fever Dean. You're going to stay at the motel while I interview another witness, maybe Sarah again."

Dean slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. "Samb, I swear to God, you say that ond mbore timbe-!"

"You're staying at the motel, Dean. You're going to rest and get better. "

"No, Samby, I'm ndot staying."

"Dean," Sam sighed, "just do it for Sarah, then, okay?" Dean started to put up more of a fight, but was pulled short by seven sneezes. 

"Find, bitch," Dean concedes.

Sam laughs. "Jerk."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. It's for my Brother

Sam looked over his shoulder at his sleeping brother and smiled, hoping he would stay like that until he got back. He closed and locked the motel door, revved the Impala's engine, and drove to back to Sarah Johnston's house. He fixed the tie of his suit and got out his fake FBI ID again.

 

Knocking on the door, he kept looking about him, just in case Dean was his stubborn self and came to the house himself. Sam knew he was snoring pretty loudly when he had left, but he had learned long ago, to never underestimate the power of Dean Winchester.

 

Sarah Johnston opened the door immediately and smiled wide. "Agent!" Her smile faded slightly when she noticed The shorter of the two agents wasn't there. "Where's your partner? Too sick?" her voice was sympathetic and concerned.

 

Sam returned her concern, but managed to stay professional. "Yes, ma'am. Agent Revis has a pretty high fever. He is resting peacefully at the moment, though. He should be fine in a couple days." He smiled a bit. She nodded.

 

"Alright, come on in then." She opened the door wide, letting him duck his way inside. They commenced the interview promptly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Dean finally woke up, he groaned and tried to sniffle. As congested as he was, all that came out was a strained skffn sound. He rubbed his aching, stuffy head and grabbed a tissue. It took several blows and several tissues to let him be able to breathe. His head hurt a bit less now, but it was a short-lived triumph as he broke into a coughing fit. He doubled over himself with the force of the coughs that bombarded his shivering, aching form.

 

He groaned longer and went to the bathroom, where he was forced to step back with surprise at his pale, clammy-looking, sickly skin and sunken eyes. As sick as he felt, he wasn't too sick to try an old-fashioned smolder when he realized how amazing and bold his eyes were in contrast to the rest of his face.

 

"I've still got it!" He was very pleased. "I bet I could get a girl to come over with these eye-" His gloating was cut short as his hands shot to his face to cover three rapid sneezes. "HeckutchUUU! Het-hetcutchupth! Chuu!" He braced himself on the vanity for a moment before he could see anything other than black and blue dots.

 

For a moment, he thought about calling Sam and asking him to come home early, but of course, the stubborn Dean Winchester stuck with his 'I'm fine' story and settled with blowing his nose until he thought his sinuses would explode and getting back in bed. Sleep came very quickly, his eyes were closed before his body hit the bed.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sam left Sarah Johnston's house and went promptly to the drug store. As he shopped, he tried to find the strongest medication. He noticed that people were staring at him like he was a drug addict and looking for a fix, since obviously he wasn't sick. Definitely not sick enough for medication that should be behind the counter.

 

"They're for my brother," he said, ducking his head and smiling, a blush upon his cheeks. He flashed his puppy-dog eyes and immediately everyone let out various volumes of 'aww' and 'that poor boy' and 'you make sure he gets those.' He smiled genuinely and triumphantly at the fact that his puppy-dog eyes could let him get away with anything.

 

He had the same moment at the register, the cashier, rather than being disgusted, looked remarkably understanding. Taking a real look at him, Sam realized that the cashier himself was probably hyped up on some behind-the-dumpster shit.

 

"They're for my brother," Sam explained. The cashier just nodded and chuckled.

 

"Sure they are, friend." He proceeded to give Sam the correct change -surprisingly- and his bag that withheld the receipt. Sam gave him an involuntary look and told him to have a good night. Off he went back 'home.'

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Maybe the end?

It was around 4 pm when Sam got back to the motel room. Not seeing Dean on the bed where he'd left him, Sam got worried. "Dean?" he called through the room, closing the door behind him. Oh no, he thought, maybe the djinn got him. He walked over to the coffee table to place the bag of medications down before taking his gun from his pants and cautiously stalking around the motel room. His eyebrows furrowed when he noticed the bathroom door was closed. "Dean?" he called again. The groan he got as a response from the other side of the door was cause for a sigh of relief. He put his gun away. "You okay in there?" All he got in response to that was retching in the toilet. Sam waited by the door for words.

 

"Does it sound like I'm okay in here, Sam!?" came the growl behind the door. Sam winced at the gravelly tone to his brother's voice.

 

"Okay, sorry, sorry. Well, I'll be out here. I've got the most powerful meds I could over-the-counter." Dean replied with more vomiting. Sam sat down on the couch, crossed his legs, and opened a beer, waiting for Dean to come out and discuss the case.

 

A few minutes later, the eldest Winchester appeared in the bathroom doorway, towel in hand. He coughed dryly into it, and looked miserably over at Sam. "I'm good," he said. Sam was sure he was trying to reassure himself, rather than Sam, who nodded anyway.

 

"Alright, so this djinn," Sam began, watching his brother sit down in the chair across from him on the other side of the coffee table, a hand resting gingerly on his stomach.

 

"What about it?" he said.

 

"Sarah Johnston said she had seen a man walking around the neighborhood with what she called, 'exotic tattoos' all over his body."

 

That got Dean's attention. He sat up a little bit more, Hunter excitement in his eyes. "So you think it's the djinn?"

 

"I know it's the djinn." Sam stated.

 

Dean cleared his throat. "Okay, well, we'll get it tonight the-" he paled and put the cloth to his mouth, getting up as if he was going to go to the bathroom again. Sam braced himself on the arm of the chair, preparing himself to get up and rush after him. After a second or two, however, he sat back down and relaxed. Sam didn't quite relax as much. "False alarm," Dean assured him.

 

"You sure?" Dean nodded. Sam mirrored him, though he didn't like his brother's colour very much. "Okay then," Sam continued, "we'll get the djinn when you're feeling better."

 

"I'm fine, Sammy. I told you!"

 

"Yeah, try that on someone who didn't just walk in to you puking your guts out." Sam's amused but worried smirk was the only thing that kept Dean from fighting more. He just sighed.

 

"Fine. I'm gonna take a nap. And not because you want me to, either." He took his defiant glare and flopped on his bed.

 

"I didn't say anything about that, Hulk, calm down." Sam chuckled at his brother's attitude and obedient defiance. He was such a child when he was sick.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sam had eaten dinner and given Dean his meds before falling asleep on his computer, the address of where the djinn was last seen on the screen.

 

Dean, a few hours later, woke up, still feeling like hell, but better than earlier. He rubbed his nose, stifling a small sneeze with his fist. "Hnxtt!" Panicking, he looked to the dining table at Sam, where he continued to sleep peacefully. He looked on the computer screen, wrote down the address of where the djinn was last seen, and left.

 

It was slow going, since every couple minutes, he had to slow down to sneeze into the air.

 

"Hetxut! Hnxt! Heckuptcu!"

 

By the time he reached the old abandoned warehouse, the invincible Dean Winchester was pale as snow, his eyes bright green. His nose was shiny and red, dripping out of one nostril. He slammed the door of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala and wiped his arm under his nose. He sniffled hard. He hoped he was going to make it to killing this djinn.

 

Dean had his flashlight out, and his wooden steak soaked in lamb's blood, sneaking around corners and along walls, looking for the djinn. "Come on, you damn djinn. I don't have time for this," Dean growled softly. His head suddenly jerked forward. "Hnxt! Ugh." He had tried to stifle it to silence, but a wet sound escaped him.

 

The djinn suddenly appeared in front of him -actually, Dean had walked into his feeding time, but the Hunter's head had been down at the time, so he hadn't noticed,- growling menacingly. Dean gasped and put his steak up defensively. He and the djinn slowly walked in a wide circle, sizing each other up, waiting each other out. Dean decided it was time to attack and leapt at the djinn. The steak went within two inches of his heart, but the djinn blocked it at the last second and grappled with Dean. After so much of that, breathing became harder for Dean Winchester. He tried to hold in the coughs, but that only lasted so long.

 

About ten minutes of throwing each other against walls and across tables and other furniture, Dean broke out into a terrible bout of ragged coughing. The djinn stopped for a second, confused as to what was happening. He then backed off Dean.

 

"I may be a monster in your eyes, Winchester, but I won't fight you while you're down," the djinn walked in circle around the troubled Winchester until Dean got up.

 

"I'm fine, God Damn it!" Dean barked at the djinn.

 

"Okay, Hunter, calm down."

 

The fight resumed. Dean was back on his game and his steak was pointed again at the djinn's heart. They sized each other up again, this time with the djinn wearing an amused smirk. They grappled for a few minutes and Dean sneezed explosively. "HeckutchUU!" Fortunately, they were close enough that with the body convulsion, the steak inserted itself into the djinn's chest. His eyes flickered from blue to brown ten times before the djinn died.

 

Sam had come to find Dean and realized that his stubborn dick of a brother would most-likely go after the damn djinn. He stood in the corner in awe.

 

"Wow..." Sam said. He couldn't believe Dean had killed a djinn on total accident. Dean started and looked at him.

 

"Don't say anything. Shut the fuck up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue?


End file.
